Ultio Ultionis
by touchtheskye
Summary: When Zenobia Pope goes on the run, she appears, by all accounts, guilty. Taking on new identities and carefully planning her revenge, she goes to Beacon Hills to seek out the man who framed her for the death of an innocent family, and the Alpha pack who aided him. With an ever growing target on her back, she vows that this will only end one way: with the death of Marcus Rowley.


Hey guys. This is my first story, and also my first author's note, and I'd like to take the time to explain just a few things. In this story, it doesn't follow any of the seasons as far as episode by episode, but second season we did get a small peak of what third season was most likely going to be (Alpha pack drama!) and I did pull from that and make my own little plot. Now, that being said, as I'm not all knowing and wonderful and such (though I can pretend) I think it's safe to assume that this makes my story not related to season three at all. I know there's some fan fiction lingo (AU? Canon? Etc?) which would describe this, but I'm not so lingo savvy, and really, I write more than I read, so I didn't add it to the summary. A summary, by the way, which was cut a sentence short! Of course, I did anticipate that, seeing as I'm a blabbermouth and things like this happen to me quite often, like when I go on to leave my best friend these long and very thought out voice-mails about my day and- you've reached the maximum time limit, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah. I intended to write a strongly worded letter to whoever put that time limit there. But then I thought back to the whole Mel Gibson voice-mail thing, and I figure whoever made that limit had their heart in the right place. Or maybe just a drunk ex who wouldn't stop calling.

Anyways, I've gotten most of my plot figured out, and have now only to write, edit, and post. In this story, I made up a sort of government run agency that deals with supernatural things, that I also cleverly named... the Agency. I know, I know. All awards go straight to me. I've really outdone myself.A lot of this story probably won't make sense at first, but this is a mystery of sorts, so bear with me! I did draw a lot of inspiration from the wonderful show Revenge, as well as from Teen Wolf, and all the angst filled shows that ABC Family has to offer.

The title Ultio Ultionis is Latin for avenging, punishment, and revenge, according to every website I looked at. I, myself, am not fluent in Latin, nor in any language other than English. I even flunked Internet Lingo 101, and Fanfiction Terms: the Basics. I am, in other words, a very poor example of a teenager who spends so much time online she's forever confused herself on the difference between real life and Tumblr. Oh well. These things happen.

And for those of you who were curious about the missing sentence from my summary, (God love you), I am going to post the entire thing again! Insert really evil laugh. Except not really, cause that's scary and I want those reviews, yo.

**Full Summary:**

_When Zenobia Pope goes on the run, she appears, by all accounts, guilty. Taking on new identities and carefully planning her revenge, she goes to Beacon Hills to seek out the man who framed her for the death of an innocent family, and the Alpha pack who aided him. With an ever growing target on her back, she vows that this will only end one way: with the death of Marcus Rowley. Even if it means being dragged down to hell with him_

And last but not least, the rating is a precaution. I don't intend for this to become a screen play for a porno. Sorry if that disappoints some readers. I want steaminess between my characters as much as the next person, but I also can't read through a lemon without laughing, so it's a problem. Also, I haven't decided whether they'll be intense cussing and such, because I as a person don't cuss much, and also because I feel like cussing is making a comeback because no one has a vocabulary to put in place of it. That being said, I don't look down on anyone who does excessive cussing, because I find it hilarious when a F bomb is dropped. I can't help it. It's the five year old in me. It's just, if I dropped an F bomb, my grandmother, whom I live with, would give me a look and I would melt into a pile of goo... because she's scary like that. Elders you respect often are.

Anywho, on to the story. Hope you enjoy the first chapter of it. And feel free to drop me a review if it strikes your fancy.

_Disclaimer:_ _I own nothing Teen Wolf related, except for my main character, and the Agency she represents. My storyline is also, for the most part, original and made up and is not intended to cause any harm, or serious injuries of any kind. However, intense cases of fangirling are acceptable. __I am making no money from this and write only to fill up that little void in my chest that pumps blood into my veins and whatnot. It is published with the purpose to entertain and to receive feedback on my own writing, as I, like many other fan fiction users, do aspire to be a professional writer. _

* * *

_Prologue_.

In the hollow shell of the Hale house, I took my final refuge. It was quiet, and almost peaceful.

Almost.

I took out my gun and loaded it with the bullets I'd stolen from the Argents. The bullets, six of them, were all supposedly laced with a particularly potent form of wolfs bane that only grew in some European villages. The going price for them was high, and I had no doubt that if someone had noticed they were missing, they were keeping mum for good reason. Like, for example, not wanting to admit that they had been upstairs making out with their werewolf boyfriend instead of keeping an eye on the ammo. I'd only been in Beacon Hills for a few months, but even I knew it was apparent that no one in this town was as they appeared and it was usually best not to trust anyone with anything you held dear.

Like a year long vendetta against a man who framed you for the murder of an innocent family, who then went on to kidnap not only your father, but your best friends father as well.

Especially when that man was on a man hunt for you.

I just didn't need things like that getting around on me. I had a weird enough reputation in town as it was. No family, no career, and I didn't attend the local high school. And I lived with a very out and about gay guy. If that didn't puzzle the local townspeople of Beacon Hills, nothing would, which was surprising enough, seeing as half of the teenagers around here were something supernatural and the parents were none the wiser.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my second gun, ejected the empty clip and loaded it with another. I was taking no chances of walking into a trap caught unprepared. I stored this gun in the waistband of my jeans, pulling my shirt over it. The gun felt heavy and cold, and reminded me of bones.

I checked the other content hidden safely within my bag; some loose knives, a smoke bomb, more clips, my birthstone on a chain necklace, my father's old wristwatch, and a picture I'd taken the liberty of folding.

I grabbed the necklace, something I'd hidden away for months in fear of it being recognized, and secured it around my neck. Now was the time to be recognized. When I hunted Marcus down, I wanted it to be me he saw. I wanted to be the last person he ever saw. I took the ruby pendent in my hand and pressed it flat against my neck.

The picture was next. I took it out, and unfolded it.

Isaac Lahey, stuck still and frozen in a laugh, stared back at me. In a time where everything seems to be digital and captured on the internet, or a phone, I was awfully glad I had this picture to carry with me in a physical form.

I tried hard not to think of the last several conversations I'd had with him. When he discovered why I was truly here. This picture was the opposite of how things had ended with us, and I knew that, but I could not stop the joy I felt at seeing it. Isaac.

He was safe, and that's all that had to matter, I told myself. I folded the picture and put it in the breast pocket of my bomber jacket. Looking up, I met the cracked reflection of myself in an old mirror that looked half crisped on its very edges. The joy I felt vanished and I brushed my hip against my gun. I was here for a more important reason than a chance at love, and my heart ached in response. It's not fair, a selfish part of me whined. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and released.

None of it would ever be fair, but this was the part I played and I was going to see it through. There would be no chance of a normal life, with or without the Agency finding out the truth about Marcus. And I had to make things right. With that final thought, I was brought back to the present, away from my thought of Isaac, and back to the Hale house.

I could hide out here for forty five minutes maybe. An hour at best. But sooner or later, I would have to head out into the fray.

And there was no where I could hide from my thoughts.

In a twisted way, I knew I should've been more eager that the man who had destroyed my life was within killing distance, and that I had spent the last how many months learning how to do just that. But when it came down to it, I was not a killer at heart. This was not something I was going to take pleasure from. I was going to kill him to prevent the deaths of other innocent people, and to take back the Agency from under his tyranny, but it would not be enough to right the wrongs he had committed. My father would still be crippled, Lloyd's father would still be traumatized, the Kiely's would still be dead, and Lloyd would still be changed. And I… well, these would be my last moments.

My cell phone vibrated and I instantly had it to my ear.

"Zenobia?" The static filled voice of Deacon infiltrated my ear. "Ze?"

"Yeah?" My hands instantly stilled, and my stomach filled with panic. Deacon was always composed, and to hear him sound scared unsettled me. Though I guess all of this should have unsettled me. It'd been a long year.

"Marcus has given his pack orders to turn the hunters, rather than killing them."

I closed my eyes, and put my balled up fist to my forehead. A part of me, the part that was still that girl before the Texas incident, wanted to grab my bag and run away from Beacon Hills. But I was no longer, could no longer, be that girl.

I had innocent blood on my hands, a target on my back, and a score to settle. I didn't have the room to falter away from this.

"Zenobia, do you hear me? Do you understand what this means?"

"Yes." I grit out. "Yes, I know what this means. I'm leaving now."

Silence met me on the other end. In the distance, the town was releasing their annual fireworks display, and I thought it was a good cover up for the bullets I could also hear.

"What-are.. going to do?" The phone spat out. Static filled my ears, my head, my brain, my body. I felt the hair on my arms rise with the goose bumps that had appeared on my flesh. A loud howl was released into the night, and I knew they'd found me.

"I'm going to put an end to this."


End file.
